Murder she wrote

3. Croissant, Croissant, j'adore les croissants!

A couple weeks passed. Everything two or so days, I'd meet up with Rylie, everything in different hours of the night. 2AM, 3AM, 4 AM, midnight, it was always improbable hours to do strange things. She took me in the woods for a under the moon picnic, she took me on a nightly stroll up a hill ( I am not the most prone to walks, it was a really nice change) she brought a laptop once and we watched horror films under the moonlight and she delighted herself and commented each death and murder, taking notes... I of course refrained from saying how unrealistic the survivals were or the deaths, because how would I know if I was a mundane person? 

It was like a month after our first meeting. Tonight, we'd have another date night— this time I would pick where we would go. I really wanted to impress her— gosh that woman was a ride! She deserved being called Rider. Heck, even her name was an adventure! I don't know if it's because I can casually talk about murder with her— that's not really common— but wow, I am falling for her and I never thought someone like me would love. I remember when I was a kid. I was brought to the shrink's office and she basically said I was a nutcase that should be locked-up. 

Really hurt my feelings. 

I glanced at my reflection one last time. I had ugly sandy blond hair and washed out blue eyes. My skin was creased like an older guy— sometimes I almost looked in my late twenties— and my hands were all calloused and ugly. Having to scrape DNA off of you does that sometimes. 

I adjusted my bowtie and got out of my apartment. It was basically a room room cube with air-conditioning. I rarely stayed there, so it wasn't worth upgrading. I grabbed my keys, took my car ( the one that was registered,  not my murder car) and ran down the five flights of stairs. Tonight, I was driving Rylie to a party that wasn't open to just any public. It was a diner with other writers and editors, pretty top notch ones in their field. They all loved murder and polars and other thrilling things. I hope she'll be happy about it. 

Once I was out of the apartment, I buckled into my seat and drove off. Rylie lived in a nice place a little out of the city. She'd never let me enter the house but she did let me see the exterior– it looked pretty cozy. 

I parked badly in front of her house, got out, run to the door and pressed the button that rung the doorbell. She opened almost immediately. 

" Wow. I feel really underdressed."

As opposition to my suit and bowtie, she wore a casual jeans dress and a little flannel. She closed the door at my face, and after like five minutes she came back out with a black dress with a V-line at the front and a gorgeous skirt thingie. She'd quickly put her red hair up into a bun. She looked really classy. 

" Please don't tell me we're going to a fancy restaurant. I just finished stuffing my face in chocolate."

" We're not. It's a surprise."

" I hate surprises."

" Don't you read books?"

" I read the end before reading the beginning. A good book is good even with the spoilers."

" Now that's a worthy deal breaker."

She got into the passenger seat of my car— it was an old 2000's machine that probably would need selling soon. But I didn't want to lose it, it was my riding buddy for so long... 

" Please tell me where we're going! I really need to know."

" It's a bit of a drive if's that any help."

" Please! Please! Pleasssssse!"

" Rider, I won't tell you."

" You're no fun."

" I am fun. You want me to ruin it all for you!"

She pretended to pout ( was she pretending?) and glanced outside. Already, we were out of town and driving towards the outer parts of State. Idaho at night was calm. Gentle. The moon was high in the sky and the air brisk, almost frisky. I let the windows down. I liked the fresh air. 

" So why do we look all posh? Are you taking me to some weird posh place? Cause I really don't know how to talk to posh people. Are the people British? Are we going to meet up with British people? I can say lads but that's about all."

" I won't tell you, Rider."

" I knew it! We're going to see British people!"

" Were you like this as a kid?"

" I was worse. So. Did you bring any tea for the British?"

" For the love of Mercury, we are not seeing British people!"

" Ah. Too bad. I was practicing my " croissant, croissant, j'adore les croissants!""

" That's French."

" Dammit."